


Roses (The absolute audacity)

by xbrokendollzx



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bard is not amused, F/M, M/M, Stephan cops a feel and it's all downhill, They are embarrassing., Tilda's first date, protective!Thranduil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-18
Updated: 2015-12-18
Packaged: 2018-05-07 08:51:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5450684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xbrokendollzx/pseuds/xbrokendollzx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"They are symbols of Virtue,  Love.” Thranduil lifted a slender finger. “A single red rose symbolizes Love. What does he know of Love? Nothing. It is a gift given with false intentions.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Roses (The absolute audacity)

**Author's Note:**

> This is the fic to start them all. I sincerely hope that you enjoy, and do feel free to comment and tell me if you did or not.

“Can you believe the audacity? The absolute nerve of that...that boy?” Thranduil sneered, delicate fingers tightening around the porcelain mug he held in his hands as he stood at the kitchen window and watched little Tilda-his beautiful, _pure_ little Tilda as she crossed the lawn to wait for her date. 

She was clad in the beautiful new knee length, pleated Violet chiffon dress he had brought at her request, complete with a pair of modest low black pumps and a black clutch. Thranduil had also insisted, to her dismay, that she take a flowy black cardigan with her in case the temperature dropped. He was the one who had helped her put together the outfit with input from Sigrid, enduring hours of her running about the house in a fit of nerves before he was forced to sit her down, placating her with the promise of her being absolutely beautiful in anything she decided to don for the evening.

“He purchased a Rose.” Thranduil seethed. “How very presumptuous.”

Bard looked up from his battered copy of ‘Great Expectations’ with a look of mock outrage. “Aye, a Rose. Buyin’ flowers for our daughter in an attempt to be a gentleman? The bastard.”

“Exactly. They are symbols of Virtue, Love.” Thranduil lifted a slender finger. “A single red rose symbolizes Love. What does he know of Love? _Nothing_. It is a gift given with false intentions.”

“Thran...I am sure it was just intended to be a thoughtful gesture. That is all.”

“Do you remember, _A'maelamin_ , when Tilda would come to me as a little girl and ask for me to plait her hair because she felt that her own talent was inadequate?” Thranduil reminisced suddenly with a tilt of his head.

Bard chuckled softly, setting the book on the kitchen table face down so he would not lose his spot, and approached his Husband from behind, winding his arms around his waist in an attempt to comfort him. He took his free hand into his own and brought it up to his lips, pressing a kiss onto his knuckle. “Oh, how could I forget? everything was, “Mister Thran” this, and “Thranduil said” that. Still is. One would have thought she was attached to your hip.”

 

Thranduil couldn’t help but smirk at his husband's mock jealousy. “She has good taste, very much like Her Da.”

“Oh, put a clamp on it you vain arse.” Bard grumbled against his lover’s temple, pulling back to swat at his bottom for good measure. “Come,” He tried in vain to pull Thranduil away from the window. “Come and quit brooding like an old man who’s seen his last sunset. I’ll make you some tea.”

Thranduil turned and fixed him with an incredulous stare. “How can you speak of tea when our little girl is currently being whisked away?”

Bard dropped his head back let out a groan, pulling back from his lover. The man was impossible when he was in his moods. He turned, and hopped up on the counter in front of him. 

He knew from the moment the boy stepped foot in their home that it would raise an issue. He had known about the budding romance blooming between their youngest and Stephan (the perfect name for a “scheming, lecherous little beast” according to Thranduil) a few months before Tilda had brought him over for dinner. 

He remembered how Tilda would always refuse to be driven all the way to school, and would always get out about a mile ahead insisting that she “needed the exercise.” How she and Sigrid would get into World War 3 class arguments over the fact that she had stolen lipsticks and eyeliners from her purse in an attempt to “remake” herself. The fact that he had to advise Tilda to wake up an hour earlier for school if she felt that she needed to take years in the bathroom, primping herself in the mirror when she had once been the very last one to roll out of bed. 

And last but not least, the notorious scarf that she refused to remove in the dead of Summer. Thranduil liked to have had a bloody aneurysm after Bain had ripped it from her neck at the breakfast table in an attempt to confirm his own beliefs. 

After that episode, Bard was much less lenient when it came to Tilda going places on her own. It had put a strain on their relationship, but it paid to know that there were no little leeches attaching themselves to his baby girl’s neck.

“Peace, My love.” Bard tugged Thranduil over to him by the sleeve of his ivory, silken dressing gown “You forget that it was us who have been looking after her all these years,” Bard murmured into the crook of Thranduil’s pale throat, lips pressed to his flawless skin. “She is an intelligent girl, with good and strong morals. We can trust her.”

Thranduil cupped the back of Bard’s neck and let his eyes flutter shut with a content sigh. “Mmm...I suppose you’re right…”

That was, until he opened his eyes to glance over Bard’s shoulder and saw Tilda throw herself into the arms of her apparent suitor-a clean cut and well dressed teenage boy leaning against a Dark blue Chevrolet Camaro-wrapping her slender legs around him with loud squeal, as she began to plant kisses all over his cheeks. Stormy, grey eyes widened in outrage at display. 

“Oh,” He shook his head, pressing a hand to his chest “Absolutely not. _Absolutely_ not.” Thranduil unceremoniously shoved Bard to the side, and began to paw at the window in an attempt to unlock it as he cursed the boy in elvish under his breath. “Bard, help me get this window open. I will have that miscreant’s head on a stake, and I will use it as a lawn ornament-”

“Thran? Thran, stop and look at me.” With the way that Thranduil had nearly thrown him from the counter, Bard was quite alarmed and reached forward to grab his husband's shoulders. “You nearly toppled me over just now, have you gone mad?”

Thranduil jerked his finger in the direction of the teenager accusingly. “I saw him, grasp her backside--”

Bard hopped down off of the counter top.“He what?!” He growled through gritted teeth.

 _“Tôl acharn!”_ Thranduil hissed, banging his fist down on the sink in frustration when the window wouldn’t budge.

Bard seconded him on that. Who did the little prick think he was anyhow, putting his filthy little hands all over his little girl? 

Thranduil swore quietly and clenched his fists trying to contain the fit that threatened to escape him. Pressing his hands to the counter, he let his head drop between his arms as he tried to think. Stomping about like some maddened bull in a china shop wasn’t going to do him any good. He had to maintain his sanity and think. His head jerked up suddenly when it came to him. Ah.

“Bard, give me your phone.”

Bard crossed his hands over his chest, shooting Thranduil a suspicious look. “For what?”

“Give it. To me.” 

Strangling the child wasn’t an option, and fighting this would only make Tilda rebel. He’d have to do this Bard’s way.

Keeping an arm wound around her Stephan’s neck, Tilda fished her phone out of her purse when it rang and squinted at the screen to see who it was. Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion and she looked up from her phone to meet Thranduil’s cold gaze in the window. 

‘Pick. It. Up’ he mouthed gesturing to his own cell phone , and she was quick to do just that, sliding her thumb across the screen. She met Stephan’s inquisitive frown with a shrug, then raised the phone to her ear reluctantly. “Y-yes Ada?”

“You will relinquish your hold on that boy and cease such inappropriate behavior this instant, young lady. Do you hear me?”

“And the next time he thinks of having a feel, let him know to enjoy it as that’ll be his last--because I’ll break his bloody hands!” Bard roared.

“I will not have the neighbors witness you winding your legs about him as if you are working in some unsavory establishment.” This comment earned Thranduil a heated glare from Bard, who was about ready to give the overly dramatic bastard a good smack for associating his Daughter with a Strip club.

She yanked her arm away from a startled Stephan as if someone had suddenly set fire to it, feeling like the little seven year old she once was when she pressed it to her chest almost ashamedly. How long had her Da and Ada been standing there? How much had they seen? 

Most importantly, why in the world were they spying on her? 

“Sorry, Ada. I didn’t know-”

“-That your Da and I were watching?” Thranduil interrupted coolly. “Rest assured that we were, and always will be-”

Bard scoffed and reached for the phone, only to be smoothly avoided by Thranduil who held it above his head when he made a swipe for it. “-I’ll kill him! Give me that-”

“-so before you make any silly mistakes remember that there is to be a repercussion for everything, _Tithen Pen_.” Thranduil continued on as if he hadn’t been interrupted, stepping out of Bard’s way when he went for the phone again. “Let your young friend know that he is to keep his hands to himself at all times, lest he lose them. Understood?”

Tilda paled at the thought.“Yes, Ada.”

“What time is appropriate for your return?”

“Ten O’ Clock, Ten Thirty. No later.”

“And what will there be none of?”

“Illicit activities, physical contact."

“Well done. Your Da and I love you very much. Have a lovely night and remember, _Vanimle sila tiri.”_ Thranduil ended the call and shoved the phone back into his pocket, watching amusedly as the teenager on his lawn scrambled around his car to open the door for Tilda, turning back to lift a trembling hand in farewell.

Thranduil only stared back, a silent threat that the boy would do well not to forget.

“That’s it? Have a lovely sodding night?” Bard ranted, sounding much like he had a few minutes back. “Are we really going to let him go free after that little stunt he pulled?” 

Despite the distaste he felt for this entire situation, a small smile worked it’s way onto his face at the sight of Tilda looking so very grown up, and stunning. 

She was his little girl no longer. She was a woman, now. A lovely young woman coming into her own.

And that was what terrified him the most.

“Don’t be ridiculous, A'maelamin,” Thranduil smirked and leaned in to whisper at his lover’s lips. “Bain told me of little Tilda’s little plot to sneak him into our home tonight. Rest assured that this battle is already won. We will be rid of him by tonight.”

**Author's Note:**

> Save me from my Barduil Hell.
> 
> Elvish Translations:
> 
> A'maelamin: My Beloved.
> 
> Tôl acharn: Vengeance comes (Thranduil is a drama queen)
> 
> Tithen Pen: Little One
> 
> Vanimle sila tiri: Your beauty shines bright.


End file.
